Weight of his world
by xxbeyondxbirthdayxx
Summary: Because in the light, in the shelter of my arms, his blackened, sinful soul is washed off. I take his crucifix, I bear his cross, I erase the black, the shadows eating him, and he's finally true, in front of me. Matt POV.


_**Note: **It's not usual for me, but for once, here's a oneshot in Matt's POV. I guess everyone knows, but just in case, I wanted to explain that when you mix all the primary colors, it gives black. It could be useful to understand a part of the fic. I guess... lol  


* * *

_He shoots, and the man falls at his feet. From where I am, sat behind my numerous screens, watching his every move, because he wants me to spy those people, because I want to simply see him more than what I'm allowed to when he's here with me, the blood that drips from the bullet hole looks black, spreading on the concrete. He steps backward before it stains his boots. Black steeled toe boots.  
I can't help it, my eyes trail from his boots up to his legs, tightly dressed in black leather. His slender frame, it's dark, and even the shadow of his scar is black.

He knows I'm watching, he knows where the bug is, and he averts his eyes just as he realises he's facing it. But I have the time to see his eyes. Even them seem black.  
Some say all cats are grey at night, but this stray cat is black. Free, wild, he has no master.

He disappears from the screen, and all that's left before my eyes is a dead man in a black suit. And then nothing. He's gone, the headlight of his motorbike is far, and my screen is pitch black.  
I turn to my right, knowing where he's heading next.

And he's on another screen, a few minutes later. His headquarters. Men, women, around him. Black suits, black dresses, black couches.  
But this time, he doesn't know I bugged the room. I'm not spying him, for there is nothing to spy. I'm just filling my addiction. More of him, more, and more, and more. Because that's what he is to me. More.  
More than life, more than love, more than what I could have expected...

Black hair, falling on his shoulder. Red painted nails on his thigh. No. No red. It doesn't fit in the dark scenery. He slaps the red away from his black leather, and the black hair withdraws at the other end of the couch where he's sat.  
No need to spy... I know he won't allow any other red than mine to touch him.  
He won't allow any other color to touch him. Because his world out there is black, only black, and he has to blend in it. No color, no touches, no feelings. Black out of the heart and mind.

He studies a black notebook. Black ink, black gloved fingers flipping the pages. His hands, that I stare at, and I know his nails are painted black under the thin dead skin of the accessory. I painted them. He let me. Because he always lets me.  
And after a few hours, a few dark chocolate bars, a few talks, he leaves. And my right screen goes black, and he'll never know. I switch it to another bug view. Because he'll be here soon.

I light a cigarette, and for a few minutes, the bright red spot colors the dark room. I crush the butt in an ashtray.  
I stand up, and I cross every room, lighting all the lamps on as I hear footsteps climbing up the stairs.

I reach the front door just as he opens it. He stands there, like usual, like every night when he comes back, his head down, his hair hiding his face. Still. Silent. Standing in the black shadow that the open door casts on him. The stray cat has no master, but he has a place to call home.  
I take the keys from his hand, and throw them on the nearest furniture. And I close the door, pulling him in. In the light.  
I slide my hands under his vest, at his shoulders' level, pushing back, and it falls on the floor. Then he takes support on me, and I pull his boots and socks off. I strip him from his leather shirt, I grab his gun and put it next to the keys, then his leather pants get off too, and I end with his gloves.

When he's finally naked in front of me, he gets rid of his crucifix by himself, and deposits it in my hand, and I hang it to my neck.  
Because I own his body, his mind, his heart, he knows that I know, but for some obscure reason, every night he wants to hand his faith to me. A reason that steps in the light once all this black is gone, discarded, melted and diluted. Because in black, there are all the primary colors.

Because in the light, in the shelter of my arms, his blackened, sinful soul is washed off.  
I take his crucifix, I bear his cross, I erase the black, the shadows eating him, and he's finally true, in front of me.

The primary blue of his eyes, the primary yellow of his hair, and my primary red that completes him, and all these together never end black. And his washed off soul never ends grey.  
Together we explode, we sparkle, we radiate, we shine. I'm blinded by his beauty and he's blinded by mine. We blink, our eyes, even after all this time, never getting used to the amazing fire we start each time we kiss.

And then I lift him from the floor, his naked body curling against my chest, in my arms, and I carry him to the bed.  
Once in front of the bed, I stop, and I keep him just a little longer, nuzzling his hair while he holds me a little tighter, lifting his purified gaze and watching me as I, just for a moment, carry the weight of his world...


End file.
